Chapter 24: The Mysterious Mrs Bruntt

'A party?' said Godric, uncertainly.

Rowena stared. 'Well, yes,' she said, after a slight pause, 'I suppose you could call it a party, if you wanted to be vague about it. To the inexpert vision, I suppose, you could call it a party. But what it actually is, is…'

And, somehow, days had passed and life had continued. The tender moments by an open grave…well, they were still there, of course, and they were still significant, but they were also in the past. And Hogwarts was about future. Future and things.

Things like reputation and professionalism and that scowling evil bitch with a large forehead who liked to call herself Slytherin's girlfriend. And future. And…

Across the sea of pointed hats, Salazar elevated both eyebrows, grinned and nodded encouragingly. Another teacher's meeting; another excuse for Rowena to make an idiot of herself on behalf of Mr Salazar W Slytherin.

'What it actually is,' she continued, all eyes on her, 'is a shin-dig.'

The words were met with further silence from the assembled teachers. Silence with an undertone of confusion and a hint of suspicion, with a dash of "are these meetings actually compulsory?" with a sprinkle of cynicism. It was a very telling silence.

Seated between the Divination teacher and the cook, Helga shook her head despairingly on Rowena's behalf.

'A shin-dig?' Godric repeated. 'Is that a…kind of party?'

'A bit,' she said, grudgingly, 'but there's more of an emphasis on…' What was it Slytherin had said? It must have been bloody good, because she didn't do this for just anyone. 'Having a good time and, er...'

From the back of the room, Salazar mimed a selection of words. Rowena squinted and struggled to translate them.

'Cele-bration,' she said, slowly, 'and…uniting students in their…time of…need?'

Various looks were exchanged around the room.

'Celebration,' she said again, 'and uniting students in their time of need. That's what a shin-dig's all about! And having…fun? Yes, and having fun. And…breasts. What—?' Dammit!

'Breasts?' said Godric, rather taken aback.

'No, obviously not breasts! Erm – I meant—' Damn you, Salazar Slytherin! 'I meant, er, rest!' She looked quickly away from Salazar as he concentrated very intently on muffling his laughter.

'Rest,' said Godric.

'Yes, rest! What did you think I said?'

There was silence. Then, very quietly, in a voice that radiated considerable disbelief, Helga said, 'Breasts.'

'Well I didn't. You wouldn't find any of those at a respectable shin-dig.'

Salazar decided now would be a good time to say, 'Shame.'

'It's a good idea,' Rowena said quickly, to cover the comment. 'I think that, considering all that's happened recently, the students would really appreciate a good shimmy-shake, if you get my meaning.'

The teachers – the majority of whom looked to have been excavated from a Romanian tomb – didn't get her meaning.

'I'm not – I'm not sure,' said Godric, slowly, 'that a good – er – shimmy-shake – is really called for at this moment in time, Miss Ravenclaw. Even when one considers the – er – troubles…students have faced of late. Er,' he licked his lips nervously.

The silence deepened at the mention of the "troubles". Of course, they all knew what it meant, but they didn't all know who was behind it. Potentially. Possibly.

Probably.

'Well,' said Rowena, discarding the thought from her mind, 'we could put it to a vote, couldn't we?' She looked around the room imploringly. Of course – twenty-four members of staff, and she and Salazar were the only ones in favour of it. The odds could have been stacked higher against them, but not much higher.

Godric nodded gingerly. 'We could, but I don't see—'

'I think it's a good idea, actually,' said the familiar voice of Anatole Amery. He rose from his chair assuredly, with one hand slightly raised. 'It'll boost morale, for one thing.'

Rowena nodded eagerly in agreement. 'Morale!'

'And I'm sure the students would appreciate a break.'

'A break!'

'It'll give everyone time to relax and unwind; I'm sure we'll all appreciate it when the time comes.'

'Yes – appreciate it!' said Rowena, unable to fathom why these words wouldn't occur to her. All she'd managed was a mumble of confused nonsense about celebrations and bosoms.

'And,' said Anatole, resuming his seat, 'it's just the kind of thing that'll encourage students to enrol in the future.'

A mutter of agreement ran throughout the room. Salazar said, 'I really don't like that man,' and Godric look around uneasily.

'Well,' he said, addressing the meeting once more, 'is that – are we? – oh. Is that a vote of confidence then? Oh. Well – I suppose, then…'

Godric wasn't the only person unable to shake the memory of the previous party: Helga, though smiling fixedly, appeared to be slightly dead behind the eyes. As the staff filed out of the room, Rowena gave her a friendly thumbs-up, and the smile became manic.

Finally, Salazar appeared at her shoulder and grinned mockingly.

'Breasts?' Rowena hissed at him. 'Why were you mouthing the word "breasts" at me?'

'Don't know what you're talking about,' said Salazar, with mock innocence. 'I think someone's got a fixation.'

She elbowed him.

Helga held one dress in front of her. After a suitable pause, she replaced it with a different dress.

Rowena squinted appraisingly and said, 'First one.'

Helga obediently showed her the first dress, adding, 'I thought I could probably cover the stain with my hair.'

Rowena nodded. 'And you can probably use a handbag to cover the stain on your other dress.'

'I don't have a handbag.'

'Problem solved.'

Helga sighed forlornly. 'I suppose. But I really prefer the other one…'

'Helga?'

'Yes?'

'They're exactly the same dress.'

'But this one just feels better.'

Rowena decided not to pursue the subject; when it came to dresses, Helga placed a lot of importance on her instincts. The last thing she wanted was a debate about the Aardvark of Fire incident, and how the tartan frock was wholly responsible for the legal trial that followed.

'Alright. Looking forward to the shin-dig?'

'Urf,' said Helga, from somewhere within the depths of Brown Dress Number One. 'Can't find the damn armhole…flippit…what?'

'Shin-dig?' Rowena repeated. 'Looking forward to it? Yes?'

'Yes,' she said, appearing victoriously from the appropriate hole, 'as much as I look forward to Death's cold, fatal blow, actually.'

Rowena tut-ed. 'It'll be fun.'

'No it won't. Dammit, damn thing's on backwards—'

'It will. It'll be innocent, alcohol-free and adult fun.'

'Adult fun? That doesn't sound very innocent. Is this upside down?'

Rowena spared her a quick glance. 'Yeah, and inside-out. Still, I think—'

'Dammit all.'

'—we should give it a chance. Enter the spirit of things and put on brave faces. Act happy, and happiness will come to you. Be jolly and bright; no folly all night.'

'Ah. That was a nice rhyme, Ro.'

'Thank you, I wrote it myself.'

'Very catchy. What's this?'

'An underskirt, I think.'

'Dammit all—'

'Yeah, I'm sure it'll be fine.'

Speaking down a sleeve, Helga asked, 'Why did you want a shin-dig so much, anyway? Is it a devious scheme of some kind, or – pfft – cotton in my eyes, dammit.'

'I don't know, really,' said Rowena. This was much more suitable than saying "I didn't, really, but Salazar did and he somehow talked me into proposing it at a meeting and lo! there's a cat in my pyjamas, whatever that's supposed to mean."

'So you really think it's going to go well?' said Helga, uncertainly.

'Yep. Swimmingly.'

'Swimmingly?'

'Rollickingly.'

'Then you truly are insane – ah! Got it.' Her head emerged from the dress' appropriate opening; a little flustered, with hair that looked like it could nest sparrows. She grinned broadly and checked the mirror.

'It's going to go well,' said Rowena, stubbornly. 'I really do think that, this time, it's going to go well.'

'Stranger things have happened.'

'Yeah. To us, mainly.'

'And how do you plan to ignore Heather all evening?'

'Very simply, actually,' said Rowena, checking her reflection in the mirror besides Helga and smoothing down her dress where necessary. 'I don't want to go into detail at this precise moment, but the basic idea behind it is that I kill her.'

'Kill her?' Helga repeated.

'With one fell swoop,' said Rowena, slamming her fist against the dressing table to emphasise her point. 'Simple, yet effective.'

'And it's all going to go well, is it?'

'Yep.'

Outside, a fork of lightening cracked against the darkness and bleached the sky white. As the light faded and the rain began to fall, Helga raised an eyebrow.

'Yep,' Rowena repeated, 'it's all going to go well.'

Things were going well.

Everything was actually going rather well.

Tedious, dull and deadly boring, but well. The evening was progressing smoothly – one might even say swimmingly – and Salazar liked to think he was partly, if not entirely, responsible.

Was it just his imagination, or was that a vague sense of pride? A warm tingle of satisfaction? The passionate embrace of triumph? All from standing in a corner of the great hall, making sure schoolchildren didn't enjoy themselves too much? Jesus. It spoke volumes about the condition of his life.

Better find Rowena. Or Heather. Whoever he found first.

To his unspoken relief, Rowena was lurking nearby beneath a tall window. Although to the casual observer she presented the figure of an attentive, watchful headmistress, it took a second glance to realise she had her eyes closed and appeared to be in some kind of deep, meditative trance.

Or perhaps she was just sleeping on her feet. Like a horse.

Salazar, keeping his voice quiet so not to be heard over the abysmally low level of chatter, appeared at her elbow and said, 'Whsst.'

Rowena's eyes shot open. She regarded him with a look of suspicion and said, 'Barbara?'

'I don't want to be a nuisance, Rowena, but fate decrees that I be the one to inform you that you are, in fact, asleep. Did you just call me Barbara?'

'Yes. And I'm not asleep,' she said, straightening up and flattening her dress as she realised her current location, 'otherwise you'd be a young, strapping Merlin, and I'd be much more attractive.'

Salazar wrinkled his nose in distaste. 'Merlin?'

'He has a certain charm,' said Rowena, vaguely.

'You were asleep, weren't you?'

'No.'

'Yes you were. Your eyelids were twitching and everything.'

'If you must know,' she said, 'I was listening to the rain fall against the window with my eyes closed. It brings me great peace of mind and happiness—'

'Bollocks, you were drooling. Still are, actually,' he added, after a meditative pause.

Rowena swore and dealt with the problem issuing from the corner of her mouth.

'Some party this is,' Salazar continued, watching with amusement as she strove to remove a string of spittle that didn't actually exist. 'Quaint. A bit boring, but at least no one's getting murdered. No one's having fun either, but that's fine with me. Oh – give up, Ravenclaw, I was kidding. You're going to rub your lips off.'

Rowena quickly lowered her hand and frowned. 'That's a cruel trick to play on somebody who's just woken up.'

'How is it even possible to sleep like that?'

'Something I learnt,' she said, with only the faintest of grins, 'while trying to sleep in an upright cupboard.'

Salazar smirked.

The period of time usually reserved for smirking elapsed, but he continued to smirk nonetheless. Rowena wondered why, then realised: neither of them could think of anything to say that would move the conversation onwards.

Panic-stricken, Rowena smirked back. Salazar's eyebrows twitched as she did so, and his smirk grew decidedly smirkier.

They were going to be locked in a smirking, cupboard-avoiding glare for the rest of their lives.

Rowena was just beginning to contemplate feigning some kind of choking fit to escape, when Anatole Amery appeared between them. Rowena could have kissed him if he wasn't quite so short.

'Hullo,' he said, a hint of caution apparent beneath the veneer of forced casualness. Clearly, he'd realised that any conversation between he and Rowena tended to conclude with an overly-enthusiastic round of insults from Professor Slytherin.

'Hello Anatole,' said Rowena, shattering the glare, 'are you enjoying the, er, party?'

"Party" was a generous description. No more than eight students filled the Great Hall, the others – Heather included – having pissed off somewhere and hopefully tumbled down a ravine. The survivors swayed miserably to the pitiable wails of an invisible string band, which echoed throughout the cold, stone room sounding like an assembly of cats in the throes of labour.

The disappointment of the students was met only by that of the teachers, who slouched, lounged and slumped around the room wishing they were dead. Salazar surveyed the misery proudly, and thought it was fantastic.

'Oh yes,' lied Anatole, 'it seems to be…progressing rather well. Ahem. I was wondering if we might have time to, er, talk…?' He shot an imploring glance between the two of them.

Salazar raised an expectant eyebrow and nodded. 'Yes?'

'Er,' said Anatole, 'I meant just Rowena.'

'Yes,' said Salazar, raising his other eyebrow, 'I am she.'

Anatole stared at him. Of all the possible routes he'd expected this conversation to take, this wasn't one of them. Eventually he said, 'Er?'

'Yes,' said Rowena, unsure of who was annoying her the most, 'I'm sure I've got a minute. If you wouldn't mind, Salazar…?' She beckoned for him to leave. In response, he took one defiant step away from them and smiled.

Rowena allowed Anatole to lead her further away, leaving Salazar to call, 'Don't do anything I wouldn't do, sister!' in a voice so mischievous it actually caused her to blush.

'Oh,' said Anatole, politely, 'is he your broth—?'

'No. Dear god, no.'

'Oh. Um. You look nice.'

Rowena doubted it, but said thank you anyway. Despite the size of it, Salazar had still somehow managed to vanish amongst the crowd. The boy had to be part-vampire; it explained everything.

'I just wanted to talk to you about those unexplained murders.' It wasn't an everyday phrase, but Anatole Amery could make it as casual as a weather report. 'The gamekeeper's quit, you see, and a couple of students have asked me about security…'

'Oh yes?' Didn't ask me, Rowena thought, the bastards.

'…And, if you can give me a full moon and a couple of dark robes, I can probably knock up a couple of protective spells with a friend. If you like.'

It took Rowena a second or two to recall that Anatole taught Defence Against Dark Arts. She nodded. 'Alright, do what you like. Have to be, er, authorised, and all that,' she added, realising the relevance of the full moon, and thinking it would be a terrible shame to see Anatole's rather lovely thighs cut to ribbons. 'Are the dark robes really necessary?'

'Well…no,' he admitted, rather shame-facedly, 'but they do make the evenings fly quicker.'

Rowena laughed, hoping to God that the comment was a joke. Apparently, it was. 'Yes, that sounds fine,' she said, 'I'm sure we'll have no problems. Have you discussed it with anyone else?'

'No,' he said, significantly, 'just you.'

'…Ah?'

For a moment or two, Rowena found herself once again locked in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Then Anatole said:

'Well, I'll go and prepare some spells and things…a lot of ingredients and things, you know…yeah. Bye.'

'Bye,' said Rowena, in a voice that was several notes higher than usual, and considerably more embarrassed.

Before he turned to leave, he added, 'Oh, there's a woman looking for Professor Slytherin, somewhere. Mrs Bruntt. Erm.' And with that final articulate statement he shuffled from the room.

Rowena stared after him for a while, taken by the oddity of the situation, before returning to her spot under the window. Helga – her first choice in discussing a matter of this nature – had long since vanished from sight, but if Salazar was half the vampire she thought he was, he'd soon descend upon a distressed young virgin if she stood around long enough.

True to form, Salazar loomed out of the non-existent crowd and appeared by her side a minute or so later. Although another couple of students had appeared in the hall, they had sense enough to remain a good distance away from two of their headmasters, and their privacy remained uncompromised. Unless, of course, Heather Bettany had concealed herself behind a nearby curtain and listened to their every word, which wasn't entirely unlikely.

'I hope you kept control of yourself,' said Salazar, with a grin.

'I just about managed.'

'What did he want?'

'Nyeh,' she said vaguely, with a wave of her hand, 'not much. Not much at all.' Salazar stared at her, his grin becoming more and more teasing as she squirmed uncomfortably. 'Well,' she admitted eventually, 'he may have…er…'

'Propositioned you?'

'No! He just – he was just very nice to me. Erm.'

'How nice?'

'Well he didn't have sex with me, if that's what you mean,' she snapped.

Salazar very nearly laughed, but managed to contain himself. 'No. I think I definitely would've noticed a scene of intercourse unfolding.'

Rowena "nyeh"-ed again, to his amusement.

'Poor Ravenclaw,' he said, with a hint of taunting in his voice, 'you've absolutely no idea when you're being flirted with, do you?'

Rowena's eyebrows shot up into her fringe. 'What?'

'It's true,' he insisted, 'little Anatiddle was all over you like a wet flannel.'

Her heartbeat relaxed slightly. 'Oh! No. No, I don't think he was.'

'Course he was.'

'No, I don't think so. He's just nice.'

'Nice? No. See,' said Salazar, adopting the tone of a revered teacher, 'what am I doing now?' He cast his eyes over her, from head to toe, in one long, soft, sweeping motion.

Rowena stared back at him. 'Evil Eye?' she suggested.

'Nope.' He looked her briefly up and down again, this time with a suggestive nod of his head. Rowena shrugged to express her bafflement, and he explained: 'I'm undressing you with my eyes.'

Rowena looked down at herself, as if to check she was still fully clothed. 'Really?'

'Yep,' he said, proudly.

She glanced down again. 'Really? Is that what that is?'

'Yep.'

'Well, stop it.'

He did it again.

Rowena slapped him lightly on the arm. 'Give up,' she said, 'I feel violated.'

Salazar chuckled.

'No one's allowed sex, anyway,' she said, as the memory of her most recent plan – hastily scribbled across the palm of her hand the night before – stirred in her mind.

'What?' said Salazar, adopting a look of mock horror, 'When did this happen? I wish to register a complaint—'

'No students, anyway. It's a war,' she explained, 'against sex and violence.'

'No violent kissing, and no sexy kicking?'

'Correct.'

'Oh. Don't think that's going to be very popular,' he said, absently, looking over the ten or so students still dancing.

Apparently, Salazar hadn't yet twigged her hidden agenda and realised that Heather Bettany still fell into the "student" category. Rowena allowed herself to smile wickedly, and mentally dance the dance of glee. No sex for you, my large-foreheaded friend.

Then the voice of her sub-conscience spoke:

Fantastic! A war against sex and violence. Twice now, Salazar had hinted – more than hinted, in fact, he'd made it explicitly clear – his feelings on half-bloods. Mudbloods. And what had she done?

Reported him? Scolded him? Tapped him lightly on the back of the hand and said "stop that, you silly racist"? No: she'd dithered. She'd bloody dithered.

While he spread his rampantly anti-mudblood – half-blood! – feelings, she'd kept schtum like a good little lapdog and let him undress her with his eyes.

Well – that part wasn't so bad, she supposed. As long as it was only his eyes doing the undressing, she didn't have to risk him glimpsing her weird nipples. Not that she'd ever had anything to compare against, but one knew one's own nipples well enough to know when they were conspiring against one.

She snapped her head up sharply, realising where this train of thought had led her. Dear God, what was she turning into? She sighed and joined Slytherin in his pre-occupied silence.

As the wailing music reached a strangled crescendo, Rowena found herself slyly surveying Salazar's face.

She wasn't sure where the impulse had come from, but suspected her previous thoughts on his decidedly racist tendencies was probably a contributing factor. She wondered if he had racist eyes.

It was a nice face.

Not a handsome face. But...nice.

'Ravenclaw?'

Rowena snapped to life with a start. He still faced away from her, but she looked guiltily away as the music wailed back into life. 'Yes?' she said, quickly.

'I'm sorry I kissed you.'

'What?' she said, stammering slightly, 'What? When?'

Now he turned to her, and Rowena could only pray he didn't notice her guilty blush. More than that, she prayed he hadn't somehow accessed her thoughts.

'When?' he repeated, brows furrowing. 'When I kissed you, obviously.'

She made a few unintelligible stammers in response. What was his expression? Oh, she couldn't look. Lightening flashed silently outside, followed by a low roll of thunder.

'That – it's alright,' she managed, eventually, 'I did kiss you back, if you recall.'

'All the same,' he shrugged, 'sorry.'

'What?' she said again, words temporarily eluding her. He stared at her unflinchingly while the bottom fell from her stomach, and she desperately wondered what the hell had happened to the world in the last three minutes or so. 'You're sorry you kissed me?' she said, struggling to keep her voice low. 'You're sorry for you—?'

'I'm just sorry in general,' he interjected. 'I'm not – I mean—'

'Can't have been the most terrible mistake of your life,' she hissed, 'you damn well didn't seem to mind it at the time!'

'I didn't mean—'

'Sorry if it's putting a damper on things with little Heather, I certainly didn't mean for it to haunt you for the rest of your existence!'

'I didn't mean that,' he said. Rowena wanted to strangle him and his serene demeanour. 'I'm just apologising for any - I don't know, confusion. Strangeness. That's all.'

'Well, bloody—' she dealt out a series of furious jabs at his chest, which he didn't attempt to resist, '—don't! Who do you think I am, bloody…bloody…Sally McSensitive?'

'Clearly not,' he said, weekly.

Rowena lowered her jabbing fingers and calmed down slightly, though her mind continued to race. 'It's – it's not the point, you know!' she said, somehow managing to shout while keeping her voice low. 'You don't just waltz around, kissing girls and then apologising weeks later! It's – it's unethical!'

'Sorry?' he said.

'Stop saying sorry!'

He waved his arms around instead, as if trying to ward away the spirits of Mad Female Outrage that surrounded him. 'What do you want me to say?'

'I want you to stop being an idiot! You're worried for any - for any confusion, you say? Well, no confusion here! I know what you are and I know what I am and I know that when our faces smush together it doesn't mean anything! I get it! Alright?'

Salazar began to say sorry, but stopped himself just in time. He waved his arms around again.

Rowena sighed and fell softly against the window, instantly feeling the clammy chill of condensation against her back. 'I'm not confused about anything. So just - bugger off.'

He leant beside her, against the windowpane. His face reflected in the outside darkness, and all four eyes stared into hers curiously. Yes – curiosity. Bewilderment, worry and sincerity, but mainly a sense of wide-eyed curiosity.

Rowena attempted to remain angry, but that quickly withered under his gaze. She was vaguely aware of other faces and bodies within the room, but only vaguely.

'So,' said Salazar, 'what is the point?'

'I thought,' she said, quietly, 'we were…you know. Getting along.'

His eyes flickered open – very briefly – in surprise. Then he said, 'Well, we were.'

'What about Heather, then?'

He was silent for a moment or two, then said, 'I suppose I – well – I get along with her, as well.'

'What…better than you get on with me?'

He considered this answer, as he had done his previous ones. He repeated, 'I get along with her, as well.'

Rowena shifted her eyes away from his, but contained her sigh within the confines of her mind.

'You're nice to get along with, Ravenclaw.'

'I've often thought so.'

'It's just…simpler with Heather. Hm?'

'Hm,' Rowena agreed flatly, still staring slightly over his shoulder. She felt horribly like a child being disciplined by a teacher, but now the teacher was kicking her in the stomach and spitting in her eyes. Smiling.

'It might not be – forever,' he mumbled.

'Oh,' she said, woodenly, 'goody.'

He didn't speak, but released a tiny "hm" noise. Rowena wasn't sure if his gaze had moved, and didn't want to find out. She shifted her shoulders slightly, and the wet glass squeaked.

And here's where I say something really profound: 'Mrs Bruntt's looking for you. Whoever she is.'

The atmosphere changed. Salazar froze, and his whole body stiffened as if she'd muttered a curse. Very slowly, he said, 'Who?'

'Mrs Bruntt,' she repeated. 'Anatole said—'

'She's here?'

'She's on the grounds somewhere, yeah.'

He took a step away from the window, but in no particular direction. A line of moisture ran up his forearm and across his shoulder blade from where the condensation had stained him.

'Who is she?' Rowena asked, disinterestedly.

'She's – Christ – cousin, half-cousin, something like that…' Now Salazar attempted to pace the room busily, while somehow remaining completely stationary. 'She isn't Mrs, thought – can't be Mrs Bruntt unless she's married herself. So what happened to –? Oh, piss.'

'Who's Miss Bruntt?' Rowena asked, suspiciously. 'What does she want?'

'We need to find her,' said Salazar, mainly to himself, 'yeah, find her – wherever she is. Got to keep her away from everyone else – wouldn't be good publicity, I'm sure—'

'Who's Miss Bruntt?' Rowena demanded. She was vaguely aware of a far-off whisper and a giggle as Salazar grabbed each of her elbows and spoke urgently:

'Something's going to happen soon and it's going to annoy you immensely, but it is definitely not my fault, alright?'

Rowena stared back at him and said, 'Huh?'

'Very good.' He released her elbows and paced quickly from the room. Rowena's mind reeled for a moment or two, before she tottered after him, watched by curious students who thought the evening was becoming a lot more interesting.

'Salazar,' she hissed, 'Salazar! It's difficult in a dress!' Ahead of her, Rowena caught sight of him vanishing down a darkened corridor. She ran to keep up, and reached his side as he walked into a rather startled Heather Bettany.

'No time,' he said, tapping her on the shoulders and pushing her in the other direction. She gasped indignantly, and Rowena couldn't resist grinning as she ran on.

They descended quickly, down the shallow incline to the castle dungeons. Rowena kept her head down, careful to avoid the damp slime that dripped from the ceiling, and held one side of her dress at knee length to avoid breaking her neck at what she felt would be an inopportune moment.

Finally, they reached the dungeon corridor: to one side, curving under the lake, a series of classrooms; to the other, the Slytherin common room and his own office, the door of which was slightly ajar. A streak of warm amber light pooled into the corridor, illuminating the veneer of moisture that covered every stone.

Salazar paused, so Rowena did the same. He shot his distracted eyes towards her and said, 'Remember – not my fault at all.' With that final cryptic comment, he pushed open the door to his office and stepped inside. Rowena followed.